


diptych

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson is great at emotional support, Coulson loves strong women, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Grant Ward casts a long shadow, Kissing, Miscommunication, POV Phil Coulson, Psychological Trauma, Skoulson RomFest 2k14, Skye Needs a Hug, Skye-centric, Sparring, Training, skoulsonfest2k14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson has to walk the fine line between letting Skye be and making sure she doesn't hurt herself. He miscalculates.</p><p>(very belated entry for the Skoulson RomFest 2k14 - Prompt: training)</p>
            </blockquote>





	diptych

She has a good form for a beginner. The left shoulder drop May had commented seems to have been corrected in such a short time. Coulson wonders if apart from May she has been taking some pointers from Trip as well. She can't pack a lot of punch just yet but that will come later, when her body catches up with her skills. Skye has made a lot of progress and no one is going to take that away from her but – it's two in the morning, she shouldn't be down here.

He watches her throw a couple of punches before approaching. Coulson has no doubt she has heard him come into the gym but she is choosing to ignore him. She has her reasons, he has his reasons for being here. He watches her frame for a moment longer – she's gathered her hair into a ponytail for comfort and she's wearing the gray t-shirt and the sweatpants she always does for training. Some days he has trouble reconciling this new version of Skye with the young woman he picked up in her van. He can't say he doesn't like it – this was what Skye has worked so hard for, after all – but there's a bit of nostalgia there.

"Should you be here right now?"

She shrugs, throws a right. "Should _you_ be here right now?"

Yesterday was a trying day (for _everybody_ ) and he doesn't want to push too hard, but he doesn't want her to hurt herself either.

"How long have you been at this?"

"Not long enough."

He watches her a minute. He notices she has put more work into her left punch than her right, possibly because she was worried about the correction.

"Do you want me to hold the bag for you?" he offers.

"It's okay."

She's not looking at him.

Coulson takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. He hasn't done this kind of thing in a long time and Skye is good enough that he has to take it seriously. 

She gives him an annoyed look when he holds the punching bag in his hands. The first hit, indeed, lands harder than it probably need to, just to bother him. Okay, he thinks when he finds himself a bit caught off-guard by it, he seriously hasn't done this in a long time. Maybe he should go back to train harder, the Director of SHIELD's seat seems to have left him complacent. Which is part of the problem, because he has felt detached of what was going on with the team. Until yesterday.

"You don't need to do this," he says, when Skye steps back to even her breathing and gain balance.

"I need to know how to do this."

"You know how to do this," he tells her. "Your marks in hand-to-hand combat... May has told me..."

"I need to know how to do this _better_."

"You know to do this better. Last month you saved FitzSimmons from a whole squad of –"

"Last month is not today. It's not tomorrow."

"Or yesterday," he adds. A bit unkindly but he needs to break through to her somehow.

She stops, for a moment Coulson thinks he's managed it. But then she hardens her gaze and turns it to the bag once more. She gives it a hard, quick left Coulson feels in her whole body. He never risked grabbing punching bags for May after the Academy and he is beginning to suspect Skye will be equally hard on his body – and his body is nothing like it was at twenty-five, he is not completely oblivious to that fact. He'll stay as long as he can.

"You're holding it too loose," she points out. "If you want to help me, _help me_."

He nods and holds the bag better, more like he is down here to lend a hand and not to discourage Skye from doing this.

He knows she doesn't want to feel vulnerable right now or why she doesn't want to give the team (not even him, Coulson realizes with some sadness) an inkling that she might.

It's his fault, too. He hasn't been a great boss where Skye was concerned these past months – because she had wanted the responsibility Coulson imagined she could handle it. And she is so strong (he doesn't think he's known anyone like her) and she has been so useful to the team, stepping up for them and being such a trooper. And he imagined that May's way of doing things would help Skye overcome the trauma but he should have remembered May and Skye are very different. May can punch things and feel herself heal. Skye lets thing fester, and punching a bag is not going to change that, it's just going to push all the shit down for a while, or provide a band aid.

"It's okay to be scared," he says, even though he knows she will get mad at him. "I'm scared, too."

"I'm not scared. He can't scare me."

"Okay," he concedes. "But you're being overzealous. You know what overtraining can do to a body."

"I'm fine, thanks for the concern. Sir."

He doesn't like it when she uses his rank like that. Because he has done the same thing. He knows how to pull up that barrier, is an expert at it, and Skye seems to have learned from the best.

And he could wallow in guilt or he could try to prevent Skye from tearing a muscle in her left shoulder.

"Skye, stop," he says, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. He doesn't try for a Director of SHIELD tone, that doesn't work. He tries for a direct plea. "Please, stop."

That seems to give Skye pause. He drops his hand from her wrist to her forearm, skimming over the protective bandages, dirtied with sweat, the skin around them reddish with friction. Coulson presses his fingertips there, where it must sting, tenderly, wishing he could will the hurt away. But he can't. He can only try and make her stop.

He puts himself between Skye and the bag, so she can't keep punching.

She frowns, looking so frustrated at him, more than he's ever since her since her first disastrous visit to the Hub.

She presses her hand against Coulson's shoulder, pushing him against the bag.

He thinks of something else to say, some form of comfort or support but he knows it would all sound hollow. He is just as scared as Skye. He also has the urge to go down to the shooting range and spend hours there for a sliver of safety. But he knows that would be fake.

In the end he doesn't have to say anything, because Skye presses herself against his body and slides her tongue into his mouth. She kisses hard and hungry, her hands gripping his shoulders and rooting him to the spot. He would say he's surprised, but he knows Skye far too well for that – even with their recent distance, he knows her.

He reciprocates for a moment, opening his mouth and moving with her, pulling teasingly when Skye traps his lower lip between her teeth. It seems to last longer than it actually does, frantic kissing and trembling hands all over each others. Coulson wonders if under different circusmtances he would feel free to actually want this. But these are the circusmtances and Coulson knows what he has to do.

"Skye," he mutters into her mouth. He grabs her firmly by the shoulders – for a moment he's afraid he's doing it to pull her against him, not push her away. He pushes her away, trying for the thin line between gentle and firm, maybe failing. "Stop. _Stop_."

"No. No, you don't want to stop."

Part of that is true. Or it would be true if tonight wasn't tonight.

He lets her lean once more and press her lips against his. But as soon as he feels the contact he pushes her off, a little more sternly than before.

"And why not?" she asks.

There's a defiance in her gaze that implies she knows what Coulson felt for her all along. He is not sure what _all along_ means but Skye definitely knew about it. He feels found out, busted. His main arguments for stopping her – I don't want you, you can't want me, this goes against protocol, I'm too old, this is not safe – debunked by that single fierce look on her face.

He goes with what he thinks is true now, right this minute.

"You're not thinking clearly," he tells her.

Skye pulls back, wincing. His hands are still touching her shoulders.

"I'm not thinking clearly?" she repeats, looking stunned. "And you have the authority to determine that? _Director_?"

"No. I just think you've been through some stress in the last 24 hours," he says. "I'm worried."

Skye snorts. "You're _worried_."

He narrows his eyes at her.

"I worry that you've decided to kiss me the day after Ward broke out of prison."

She steps back, _stunned_. The shock and anger and plain fear in her face twisting a knife into Coulson's side. Skye looks at him from toe to head. She makes a fist of her left hand and for a moment he thinks she might hit him. The perfect form of that fist.

"Fuck you," she says, turning her back to him and walking away.

 

 

&

She manages a nice feint and Coulson loses balance for a moment, Skye's foot managing a skillful hit on his ankle. The way he stumbles onto the mats echoes throughout the gym. It's a bit eerie, because of the hour, because it feels like they are the only two people left in the whole world.

Skye doesn't smile like she usually does, whenever he has seen her land a particuarly good hit on May whenever Coulson watches them train. Now she just stands there, seizing him up.

She still needs some muscle mass to make that move really powerful – which Coulson is a bit grateful for, the hit on his ankle not as painful as it could have been, though it feels sore enough that he wants to finish the fight soon and go on to actually _talking_. He knows she hasn't set out to cause him pain. Skye is abviously angry at him and using that anger, but she is not being careless or using their sparring to hurt him.

Skye has already knocked him down a couple of times. The first time was baffling – Coulson has seen how good she's become in these few months but never up close, never on himself. She was right in waiting for him to attack first, and a couple of times he found himself being pulled by the arm, spinning away, disoriented. Maybe he really is rusty. He can't remember the last time he did this, much less with a subordinate. Much less with a subordinate he just happened to kiss the last time they were alone in this gym.

He takes a moment to stand up and get some air in.

"I see you're not holding back just because I'm your boss," he tries to joke, uncomfortable by this silence between them. This silence which has stretched for weeks.

For a moment Skye looks at him squarely and he's sure she is not going to reply.

"No," she says. Then: "You were the one who offered to help."

"I'm beginning to regret it," Coulson tries again.

No smile.

With Trip and May gone for a couple of days he thought this could be the perfect moment to clear the air, plus Skye would probably appreciate punching him a couple of times.

It turned out a bit more intense than Coulson anticipated. He's not a young man anymore, and he has to take advantage of his weight and his experience versus Skye's obviously better flexibility and speed. For someone who has been a SHIELD agent for less than a year Skye knows her own limitations pretty well. But well, someone like Skye would have to be.

He can at least do her the courtesy of employing himself 100% even though he hadn't been his original plan.

"Come on," she says, getting impatient, standing in a posture Coulson knows she didn't copy from May, a boxer's stance.

He lunges blindly at her and she waits until the last moment to twist out of his way, grabbing the side of his t-shirt and pulling him down with her. She lands on her back, taking all of Coulson's weight with her but she doesn't miss a beat – soon she has him in an unbreakable lock, one arm twisting his, one blocking the other and pressing against the back of his neck, and her legs wrapped around his thighs, holding him down on his side until his cheek touches the mat.

He knows this kind of grip because it's a Melinda May staple. He fell for it himself many times about a thousand years ago – when no one in the Academy wanted to train with her and he sacrified himself in the name of friendship. This is a variation, though, personalized because Skye is not that strong, she needs more point of pressure to hold her rival down.

He moves in her grip, experimentaly, but it holds – Skye lets out a satisfied grunt when she realizes Coulson can't move. He tries not to find that noise too alluring.

By the time it's obvious Skye has won they are both sweaty, exhausted and slowing down.

They are also in the process of crossing some lines one should never cross while sparring.

He continues struggling against her for no real purpose – other than he likes it and she likes it – and she tightens her legs around his middle.

They move against each other, and with each other, and Coulson can't avoid the knowledge that more than sparring what they've done all this time is fool around. There are many kind of frustration being tackled on these mats tonight and he is as guilty of that as Skye. The little touches and the challenging looks. He can't deny he finds her beautiful like this: strong and effective and still so very Skye in everything she does, even kicking her superior's ass.

He knew this was going to turn not-safe and not-professional soon. The part of him that is a selfish, reckless mess was counting on it, anticipating it, when he offered to help her train. He _is_ a selfish, reckless mess willing to take her down with him. He would feel worse if he didn't know Skye had been thinking just the same. If it wasn't for the fact that she obviously wanted things to end up like this.

Her whole body is too hot and pitiless, wrapped around him to immobilize him.

He remembers why he hasn't sparred with her before. He's terrible at self-control.

He sighs, in a final defeated gesture.

"Okay, I guess you must feel better now that you've kicked my ass," he tells her.

Skye doesn't let go, doesn't loosen her grip and inch. In a way Coulson doesn't want her to.

"And I guess you know that you _deserved_ it."

He thinks he can hear Skye gritting her teeth behind him. Her fingers around his wrist are hot and unyelding. He nods.

"Three weeks, Coulson, _three weeks_." Her voice is angry, but also sad and a bit desperate.

"I know," he says.

"How long are you going to insist on putting this off?" she asks.

"I didn't imagine you were waiting for me."

That bit is true. But it's also more bullshit on his part.

That's when Skye loosens her grip a bit. He wonders what that means.

"I wasn't," she says, sharply. "But if I was?"

Her body is almost holding him, not trapping him.

"You know what I want," she says, softer now. "What do _you_ want?"

"Let me go and I'll tell you."

She does as he says, slowly untangling her limbs and letting him move. Coulson falls on his back, panting, unsure of what to do with his new freedom. It felt like forever while he was in Skye's grip. His muscles cry at the change. Letting go hurts. Letting go always hurts.

It takes him a moment to settle down – Skye is looking at him expectantly, almost impatient. It makes Coulson feel old, and at the same time, terrified. He stops stalling and grabs Skye's hips.

He rolls her over with him until she is straddling his lap.

Skye lets out a sigh of surprise but she doesn't resist. She moves _with him_ , following him.

He bucks his hips into her; the gesture is clear, impossible to misread, and so is his state. Gym clothes doesn't leave him much room to hide. Good. Skye doesn't want him to hide, so he doesn't want to either.

Skye smirks. "That's more _showing_ than telling but I get the message."

She makes herself comfortable, grinding into him to let him know she gets it. Then moving her hips to let him know she wants the same. Coulson makes an effort not to moan at the pressure, the heat of being caught between Skye's thighs. He has defiled the sanctity of sparring far enough for one night. He never thought he could be this person.

"I'm sorry," he says, not about this. "That night..."

Skye shakes her head. "No, you were right. It would have been a mess. I'm glad you stopped me. But. You shouldn't have assumed that just because it wasn't right that night, it wasn't right in general. That's why I am mad at you."

"I know that. You were right, too. I _was_ running away."

She lowers her gaze. Her hands rest over his stomach, like she's feeling the rise and fall of his breathing.

"You're always running away," she says.

Her voice is soft and disappointed.

He reaches out his arm, touching his fingertips across her cheek. She's still sweaty and flushed, heat on her skin.

"You always manage to catch up with me," he tells her.

She rolls her hips. This time Coulson lets out a tiny, desperate groan, letting his hand fall to Skye's neck, the hollow of her neck.

"Do you want this?"

"Yes," he pants. "But... _slower_."

"Okay."

She bends over and kisses him again, slower but just as desperate. Coulson can't help kissing back, running his hands all over her sides, gripping her waist. He's been thinking about it since she kissed him three weeks ago, of course. How could he have been thinking about anything else.

When she pulls back suddenly she looks older, more tired, softer at the edges. Being angry with him must have taken up a lot of energy. She's almost limp in his arms.

"Do you want to take this somewhere else?" Coulson asks. "Somewhere that's not on the mats full of the team's sweat, blood and tears."

He tries levity, Skye tries smiling. They both get halfway there.

"What were you thinking?" she asks, lost, like she can't imagine where else they could go.

"Why don't we take a hot shower and talk afterwards?"

She raises one eyebrow. " _Talk_?"

She's afraid he's running away again. He isn't. He couldn't. She's got him. She has the strongest grip he's ever known.

He runs his hand along her side soothingly, massaging the bits between her ribs.

"Talk, or whatever you want to do. Like this."

He sits up, pushing Skye off his lap and onto his thighs. He reaches up to kiss her, holding his hand against her nape. Quick and hard and impossible to mistake. He makes himself stop barely after he begins or he knows he'll never leave the mats. The weight of Skye's body bearing down on him is almost enough.

"I like that," she says.

He smiles at her. He has the feeling he hasn't done that in a long time, smile at her.

She puts her arms around his neck, burying her face against it all of the sudden. It's a surprise. Coulson hasn't anticipated Skye coming down so easily. He skims one hand across her back, trying for tender now that he has some intimation that is exactly what she might want.

"It's okay," he says, soothingly, even though she is not crying or anything. Just breathing heavily against the collar of his faded-gray t-shirt. She hugs him closer to her.

"I didn't want to be scared," she says, matter-of-factly. "I didn't want you to know."

"I know."

"I still am. He's still out there."

But he knows this too. But if he trusts someone to protect herself and the team that person is Skye. It's okay if she doesn't exactly feel strong, because _she is_.

"I'm still scared, too," he says. "But we'll get him. We will."

"I know that. I've always known that."

"And I know _you_. You're not going to let this control or define you."

Skye stares at him for a moment, her expression quite unreadable, or more accurately, quite unknowable. But then she leans into and brushes her lips against his, quietly, the only calm kiss they've had so far. It last as long as it takes Coulson to close his eyes and twist one hand into the fabric of Skye's t-shirt but it happens. It happens and it's not about fear or adrenaline or frustration.

Afterwards he holds her face in his hands, looking for a sign. There's a strange shyness about Skye all of the sudden, lowering her gaze when she feels herself studied.

"I like that," Coulson says. She chuckles. He can almost taste it, they are so close. "So?"

Skye nods. "Okay. Hot shower, talk, then more of _that_. I like that plan."

He likes it, too. 

He doesn't mind getting his sorry ass kicked repeateadly on the mats if this is the outcome.


End file.
